He’d had nightmares. She knew he had because she’d peeked in the bedroom after hearing him thrashing about in bed, though he denied it. This morning, he’d been quiet. It had been on the news last night, that the police were looking for her, and Callum wasn’t stupid. He was a mature sixteen, as were many of the children who lived in the outlying villages, and had to be self-sufficient at an early age. He worked out that she was no longer at the hospital. He’d also seen her picture online and on TV. He knew, also, that the police were concerned because they’d released photos of her clothes. Annie saw, as the days passed, that his frown deepened and shadows cursed his eyes.

‘Do you know what, Callum? She’s probably got herself drunk at a party and is now safe at home, burning with embarrassment at the trouble she’s caused.’ She’d tried to reassure her son but knew that Callum hadn’t fallen for her theory, but it sounded comforting anyway.

The cottage was their warmth and succour, and she hated leaving it every morning at this time of the year, when the cool air seemed sharper and the sun dropped further in the sky. She looked forward to getting home every night and had no more ambitions than to provide for her boys and care for her family. She envied Joe his casual hours and outdoor existence; though when the snow hit, she’d rather be tucked away in her office in the bowels of the hospital any day.

She spotted the school bus travelling in the other direction as it made its pick-ups in the villages between Penrith and its final destination. Callum was talking of attending sixth form in Kendal: that would present a fresh transport headache. His other option was Penrith or Workington, or even Barrow-in-Furness. Annie had an aunt in the large town on the south coast of the Furness peninsula but she’d rather Callum came home every night. It was a conversation for next year.

For now, she was keen to find out if anyone knew if the girl had been found yet.

Chapter 13